


When We Have To

by BottleRedRosie



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottleRedRosie/pseuds/BottleRedRosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keller liked to watch. Oneshot. Spoilers up to 1.4 Atari and inspired by one throwaway line in that episode, "Oh, this is going to be good...". Characters involved in adult situations (nothing graphic, but suggestions of dubcon / noncon).</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Have To

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: M  
> Words: 3700  
> Spoilers: Up to 1.4 Atari  
> Warnings: Situations of an adult nature.  
> Summary: Keller liked to watch.  
> Disclaimer: Everything is owned by someone else.  
> A/N: First attempt at writing anything like this. Inspired by one throwaway line in Atari, "Oh, this is going to be good..." as I wasn't entirely sure what Keller meant...

** When We Have To **

 

Keller liked to watch.

Cole had come to this conclusion within days of his and Ramse’s arrival at the West Seven camp.

It wasn’t anything the tall, skinny Scav said.  Not even anything he did, not really.

Just the way his rodent-like eyes seemed to dart everywhere Cole was at the second he got anywhere near him.

Cole wasn’t sure what to make of it at first.  Not the first time he caught Keller staring at him over Deacon’s shoulder, as the self-proclaimed Scav King welcomed his new recruits to his kingdom; not the time he caught him watching as Max showed him around the mess tent; not even the time he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off him as Deacon invited Cole to inspect the latest semi-auto death machine he’d managed to get his hands on.

Although Deacon _had_ kinda tried to get his hands on more than just the hardware, truth be told.

Cole didn’t really think much of it until he caught the look on Keller’s face. 

Personal space wasn’t usually an issue when most of the world was dead and you went weeks with only one other person to talk to.

Of course, it wasn’t that Cole wasn’t aware of what was going on.

He’d been around the block.

Exchanged services for goods.

Last time he was a “good boy” he was five years old and his dad was trying to teach him not to use the word, “can’t.”

Cole hadn’t been a “good boy” for a long time now.

Which pissed Ramse off no end.

Ramse.  Self-sacrificing, moral-compass-waving, big brother Ramse.  Always there to knock anyone’s block off who dared come near Cole with anything more than a lecherous smile on their face.

Ramse, who was always the one to offer “services” when the need arose.  

Until Cole hit twelve and all the perverts in the world were suddenly more interested in him than they were his big brother.

Ramse joked it was the hair, and kept trying to cut it off while Cole was sleeping.  “They think you’re the girl in this relationship, brother!” he’d tell him with a grin that never made it to his eyes.

Maybe it _was_ the hair, Cole had mused.  A lot of the wastes of skin he found himself “servicing” sure as hell seemed to like pulling at it.

Still.  _Only when we have to,_ had always been their mantra, his and Ramse’s, and if joining West Seven meant they no longer had to, then that could only be a good thing.  Right?

Until the first time Deacon called Cole into his tent.

Cole had had his back to the tent pole, the whole of his vision virtually blotted out by the Scav King, who had seven inches on him and a whole mess of muscle, so that the only thing he could see besides Deacon and distant green canvas was Keller lurking by the tent opening.

Of course, on that occasion, Deacon hadn’t known which buttons to push.

He’d tried flattery, that first time.  Told Cole how glad he was to have him as part of his family; how he could go far within West Seven’s haphazard hierarchy. 

But he hadn’t offered him anything.  Given him a reason to offer anything back.

So it had just been a “chat.”  Man to man.  King to subject.

Cole had left with a shot of bourbon in his belly and, thankfully, nothing else.

Keller had seemed disappointed.

The second time, it was Max.

“You like her, right?  She sure as hell likes you, son!”

Cole had, for some reason, found that absolutely hilarious, especially considering the way Deacon was looking at him as he said it; the way he’d seen Deacon looking at Max earlier that day when the two of them had been kidding around whilst ostensibly cleaning the weapons.

He was pretty sure Deacon liked Max a whole helluva lot more than he liked Cole.

Maybe he just liked the thought of them together more than the thought of them separately.

Again, Keller had been left disappointed, and Cole had managed to duck out of the tent once Deacon had passed out on his bunk in a drunken stupor, completely dead to the world.

Of course, Keller had made damn sure he blocked Cole’s only exit, forcing him to squeeze past the rat bastard, so close he could feel his ragged breath on his neck and something he really didn’t want to think too much about shoved insistently against his hip.

The third time, Deacon had been wasted. 

They’d been on a successful scavenging raid that day and the bourbon had been flowing pretty freely at the impromptu celebration they had when they got back.

Cole had managed to catch Deacon when it looked like he was going to take a header into the campfire, and had somehow succeeded in maneuvering the bigger guy back to his tent, before unceremoniously dumping him on his bunk.

“Anyone ever tell you, you got real pretty eyes, kid?” Deacon had murmured, gazing up at Cole as he tried to extricate himself from the hand tightening in the front of his jacket.

Cole overbalanced, nearly landing on top of Deacon before he managed to right himself.

He shrugged.  _Nope.  Never heard_ that _one before._

Deacon snorted, yanking on Cole’s jacket until the younger man’s face was brought inches from his own.  His free hand darted up quickly, fingers tightening around Cole’s cheek, gripping him from eye socket to jaw in one large hand.

Cole sucked in an involuntary breath and tried to pull away, but even wasted, Deacon was ridiculously strong and stupidly tenacious.

“I wouldn’t want to have to poke them out, you know,” he murmured.  “Those pretty eyes,”

Wrong button.

And Cole was pretty sure Deacon instantly realized his mistake from the way Cole suddenly straightened up, a little bit of defiance creeping into his oh-so-pretty eyes as he managed to disengage Deacon’s hands from both his face and his jacket in one angry shrug.

“I think you need to go to sleep now,” he said, turning to leave only to find Keller blocking his path.

He took a slow breath and closed his eyes for a second.

“What?” he demanded.

Keller shrugged.  “You know, if I’m interrupting anything you only have to say.”

Cole sighed wearily.  “Keller, you’re interrupting my life,” he told him shortly.  “I’d be really grateful if you’d get the hell out of it.”

Keller looked kind of hurt, but made absolutely no effort to get out of Cole’s way.

Cole shook his head, side-stepped the tall scav, and made to get the hell out of Dodge before it dawned on Keller he’d finally gotten Cole all to himself in a confined space with so much noise going on outside there’d be no one to hear him if he tried to call for help.

“Maybe next time,” Keller called to him over his shoulder, as Cole made a hasty exit from Deacon’s tent.

“Not if we were the last two people left on Earth,” Cole muttered, devoutly praying that statement never actually came true.

The fourth time, Deacon had finally figured it out.

Figured out the button.  The trigger.

They’d been on a scouting party and accidentally come across a couple of old farts who literally had nothing but a couple of beans to rub together.

Of course, Deacon being Deacon, he had to have their couple of beans for himself.

Ramse had gotten all up in his face, told him they were weak, helpless, what was the point in killing them?

It wasn’t the first time Ramse had waved his moral compass in Deacon’s face.

But it might have been the last.

Deacon had laid him out with one punch, handed a knife to Cole and made him do it.

The first guy had gone down easy.

The second had started to cry and Cole had hesitated, just for a second.

Deacon had grabbed hold of his wrist and forced him to knife the guy anyway.

Of course, Deacon again being Deacon, he wasn’t too happy about Ramse harshing his Authority.

Hadn’t got Ramse in his tent though.

Just got Cole.

And knew exactly which button to push.

“You’re always welcome here, Cole,” he’d said, once again herding him backwards towards the tent pole, the only really solid thing in the whole structure that could stop Cole backing away from him any further.  “You know that.”

Cole had nodded, just once, eyes flickering over Deacon’s shoulder to where Keller was smirking at him from the tent opening.

He’d flinched when Deacon had suddenly reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind his ear.

 _“It’s all about the hair, man,”_ he’d heard Ramse saying in his head.

He resolved to cut it off as soon as he got himself the hell out of this situation.

Deacon’s hand was still unnervingly close to Cole’s face, though.

“So you understand,” the Scav King had continued, running the pad of his thumb along Cole’s cheekbone, “that I can’t have him disrespecting me like that.”

Cole nodded again, any defense of Ramse dying in his throat as Deacon’s thumb made its way slowly down towards his mouth.

“I could have him killed,” Deacon continued, seemingly insensible to the incongruity of what he was saying and what he was doing, as if he’d completely disconnected the two.  “Or I could kill him.”

When Cole finally opened his mouth to protest, Deacon shoved his thumb between Cole’s lips, and once again all protestations died abruptly.

Although Keller was the last thing on his mind that second, Cole couldn’t help flicking his glance to the tent entrance, where the scav’s hand seemed to have disappeared down the front of his pants.

Never had Cole wanted to retch so much in his life.  And it wasn’t just from the taste of Deacon’s thumb in his mouth.

“Or I could have you do it.”

It took Cole three thrusts of Deacon’s thumb between his lips to properly register what he just said.

Deacon smiled.  Removed his thumb as if he was doing Cole a favor.

Cole’s mouth opened and closed again soundlessly.

“You got nothing to say, sweetheart?” Deacon asked, his fingers brushing down Cole’s cheek to his neck.

“He – he’s my brother,” Cole finally managed to blurt out, as if that should be explanation enough.

Deacon nodded.  “So you want to save his life, am I right?”

Cole blinked at him.  Nodded.  Blinked again.

The Scav King laughed.  “Of course you do.”

“I won’t kill him,” Cole insisted.  “And I won’t let you do it either.”

“You and whose army, kiddo?”

Cole swallowed.  “He – he won’t do it again,” he assured him, abruptly conciliatory, a necessity, considering the position he was in.  “Ramse’s just…well he has a code.”

“A code?”

“To live by.  He’s kind of a –”

“Killjoy?”

“Conscience.  He’s kind of my conscience.”

Deacon laughed.  “Well he sure ain’t mine.  And if he carries on like this, we’re gonna have ourselves a problem.”

His fingers started to dig in where Cole’s neck met his shoulder and the younger man gritted his teeth and tried not to wince as the pressure steadily began to increase. 

“There’s no problem,” Cole assured him, ducking his eyes away as Deacon’s hand slid further down his shoulder, fingers clawing at bone, thumb running languidly across the exposed skin at his neck. 

“Yeah?” Deacon said.  “Show me,” he commanded, pushing down insistently on Cole’s shoulder, so hard Cole actually felt his legs start to buckle.  “Give me one good reason to keep you two around.”

With a barely audible sigh, Cole dropped to his knees as Deacon’s fingers released their pressure on his shoulder and instead knotted in his hair. 

_“It’s all about the hair, man.”_

And that was the last he saw of Keller for a while.

 “What the hell happened to you?” Ramse had asked later, concern flooding his dark eyes as he’d got a load of the bruises on Cole’s jaw and neck.

“Nothing,” Cole had replied, abruptly pushing past him as he headed for his tent, before suddenly changing course and darting round back, where he threw up unceremoniously all over somebody’s shoes.

He’d wondered, briefly, whose shoes they were and how pissed they’d be when they came looking for them and found them full of puke.

“Cole.”  Ramse was standing behind him, his tone brooking no argument.

Cole had turned to look at him.  “It’s okay,” he’d said with an empty smile.  “I straightened it out.”

Ramse blinked.  “Straightened what out?”

“Deacon wanting me to kill you.”

Ramse, to his credit, hadn’t seemed at all surprised.  “Oh he does, does he?”

“He does,” Cole had confirmed.  “He _really_ does.”

“And how exactly did you ‘straighten that out’?”

Cole had shrugged.  “It’s all about the hair, man.”

Ramse hadn’t laughed.  “That’s not funny, brother.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

Ramse had put a hand on his shoulder, the exact same spot where Deacon’s had been minutes before.

He’d flinched, and not just because it hurt.

Ramse’s hand had moved to the back of his neck, pulled him in close, so their foreheads were virtually touching.

“I’m gonna kill that asshole,” he’d whispered, and Cole had had no doubt he meant it.

Cole had nodded.  “Get in line, brother,” he’d murmured.  “Get in line.”

Cole wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find Ramse had put a bullet in Deacon’s brain the next morning.  Maybe after cutting off his dick.

That was if Cole actually made it to next morning in one piece.

After all, he had to get past Keller first.

He smelled Keller before he heard him, cigarettes and sweat and something Cole really didn’t want to think about, considering what he was pretty sure Keller had been doing to himself while Cole had been… doing Deacon, only a couple of hours earlier.

Cole had been in his tent asleep.  Or at least, Cole had been doing what passed for sleep in his world.  Which wasn’t much more than closing his eyes and tightening his fingers around the knife hidden under his blanket.

From the fetid smell of him, Keller was leaning over his bunk, watching him, as always.

“Whaddya want, man?” Cole asked without opening his eyes.

Keller snorted.  “I guess you’re awake then.”

Cole looked up at him.  “Kinda hard to sleep with some pervert watching me.”

Keller laughed, but clearly he didn’t find Cole at all amusing.

“You know what they call people like you?” he asked instead.

Cole shook his head, raising himself up on his elbow as he slowly assessed the situation.

“Unfairly blessed?” he asked, grimacing as Keller shoved him back down against the thin mattress, his knee suddenly rammed against Cole’s chest.  “Hey –” he started to protest, before Keller leaned right down to him, the pressure on his chest making him want to vomit all over again.

“A prick tease,” the scav told him, long fingers grabbing at Cole’s hair and yanking back his head.

“God _dammit_ ,” Cole ground out through gritted teeth.  “I am _so_ getting a haircut tomorrow –”

“Shut the hell up,” Keller ordered, a knife suddenly appearing out of nowhere to hover inches from Cole’s left eye.  Cole sucked in a breath before Keller’s large hand abruptly let go of his hair and splayed itself over his mouth, shoving his head back against the mattress.  “Not another word comes outta that mouth,” he ordered, trying to push his fingers between Cole’s lips, much as Deacon had done earlier.  Cole considered the feasibility of trying to bite them off for a second, but abruptly froze stock still when Keller started fumbling with his belt and the fastenings on his pants, and Cole’s assessment of his situation ramped up a gear.

“Sick o’ hearing you talking,” Keller continued, clearly struggling to get his pants unfastened with the knife still clutched awkwardly in the same hand.

Cole instantly took advantage of the situation, making a grab for Keller’s wrist and managing to knock the knife out of his hand before doing his damnedest to squirm out from under him.

“I don’t think so,” the taller man spat, his fingers curling into a fist around a handful of Cole’s t-shirt, which he used to haul him right back down onto the bed, forcing him face down this time.  “You’ve been asking for this, you little shit,” he added, straddling Cole before once again grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head as far back as his could get it without actually breaking Cole’s spine.

Cole yelped.  “Get your hands off me you psycho sonofa –”

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Keller froze at the sound of Ramse’s voice behind him, and Cole was pretty sure from the way his hands suddenly started to shake that he expected to feel a knife between his shoulder blades any second.

“Keller’s about to get his dick sliced off if he rubs it against me one more time,” Cole informed his brother.

Keller looked down – to where Cole had his knife pressed against the scav’s groin.

Keller swallowed.

“Oh he is, is he?” Ramse asked, wandering around Keller’s shoulder so he could look him in the eye.  “I’m pretty sure that might be quite painful.”

“Yeah,” Cole agreed.  “Pretty sure it would be.”

Keller held up his hands in surrender, releasing his grip on Cole’s hair and getting up off of him sheepishly.  “Hey, fellas,” he said, laughing awkwardly.  “All a big misunderstanding.  I thought –”

“You thought you’d come in here and try and put your dick in me while I was unconscious?” Cole asked innocently.

Keller was all mock consternation.  “What?  No!  What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

“Is that a baseball bat in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

Keller abruptly took a step back, careful to avoid the knife Cole still had hovering dangerously close to his family jewels.  “Just a misunderstanding,” he repeated.  “I thought I saw someone come in here –”

“And you were hoping it was Deacon?”

Keller swallowed.  “Listen, man, I’m sorry okay.  Let me go and I’ll never bother you again.”

“You better not,” Ramse told him, picking Keller’s knife up from where it hand landed on the floor, and raising the tip to its owner’s Adam’s apple.

Keller swallowed.

“Castration _hurts_ , man, believe me.  I’ve seen it done.”

Keller nodded, although not too vigorously for fear of the knife getting any nearer to his throat than it already was.  “I get it, okay?” he said.  “He’s yours.”

“He’s _nobody’s_ ,” Ramse corrected him.  “And if you or anyone else tries to mess with that, then I’m gonna be pretty darn annoyed about it.”

Keller nodded again.  “Got it.  Annoyed.  Okay.”

Ramse inclined his head, but didn’t move the knife away.  “You think we let this scumbag go, Cole, or what?”

“Hey man, you know how hard it is to get blood out of a good blanket?” Cole replied, sitting up and attempting to pull his clothes back into the position they were supposed to be in.  “Let him go, if only to save on laundry.”

Ramse snorted, removing Keller’s knife from his throat before shoving him towards the tent flap.  “Get outta here!” he admonished him.  “And you ever try somethin’ like this again?  You’re gonna live out the rest of your days singin’ soprano.”

Keller, unsurprisingly, hadn’t bothered Cole again after that night.

Cole still saw him stealing glances at him, and Max ribbed him mercilessly about Keller having a massive crush on him, but as long as that’s all it was, Cole could handle it.

After he and Ramse escaped the West Seven, Cole could honestly say he hadn’t given Keller another thought.

Until, years later, here he was, chained to another tent post, drugs still wending their way through his bloodstream, dulling his senses, and Keller sitting on the opposite side of the tent, idly playing with a knife as he sliced into an apple.

Cole swallowed.  “Where’s Deacon?” he asked a little uncertainly. 

He hadn’t needed Ramse to swoop in and rescue him that night all those years ago when Keller had come sneaking into his tent.  But right now, he would have given anything to see his brother come barging in, pissed off and ready to kill anyone who got between him and the rescue he always believed his little brother needed.

“Just rolled out with the rest of them,” Keller replied.  “Now, he said that he wanted you alive,” he added, “but, you know what?  He didn't say that you had to be all shiny and new.”  He rose slowly and began to meander over to Cole’s position, a look in his eyes that made Cole want to throw up even more than the lingering effects of the hallucinogen in his system.  “So…” Keller continued, crouching down in front of him, the expression on his face one that Cole remembered only too well from the last time he’d got him alone in a tent.  Cole swallowed, as Keller’s clammy hand brushed a lock of hair from off of his face almost tenderly, before he once again raised his knife to hover near Cole’s eye.  “Oh, this is going to be good…”

Cole had never been so happy to see Max in his life.

Maybe he should have offed Keller then and there, while he was still out of it from the blow Max had landed to his head.

But that wasn’t who Cole was any more.  He didn’t kill people indiscriminately.  Even wastes of molecules like Keller.

No, he’d leave him here to face the wrath of Deacon on his return.

If he ever returned.

And somehow, Cole mused, if Deacon never came back, he believed that would be the cruelest thing he could ever do to Keller. 

Now if only he could persuade Max not to kill him, Cole figured, he maybe had one more shot at making West Seven, Deacon and Keller a very distant memory.

If he could persuade Max not to kill him.

“You know, maybe I just wanna kill you myself,” she snarled, knife at his throat.

“Are you gonna…?”

 

**The End**

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
